


A Chronicle of Basketball and Soul-Speak

by pennyofthewild



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Canon Backstory, Canon Compliant, Gen, depiction of neurological disorder, gratuitous use of medical terminology, mom!alex, newspaper article snippets, nographic depiction of illness, platonic family fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-02
Updated: 2014-10-02
Packaged: 2018-02-19 16:04:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2394506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pennyofthewild/pseuds/pennyofthewild
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[In high school, Alex’s father wanted her to study for a teacher’s diploma in college. The work would be steady, he explained, and the pay decent. She wouldn’t have to worry (much) about finding a job, and teaching is a respectable, honorable career. </p><p>Alex wanted to play basketball.]</p><p>Alex-centric fic, exploring her background, her retirement, and her relationship with her boys.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Chronicle of Basketball and Soul-Speak

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Qem](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Qem/gifts).
  * Translation into Русский available: [Баскетбольная хроника и разговор по душам](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5145419) by [named_Juan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/named_Juan/pseuds/named_Juan)



> A couple days ago I had a sudden, irrepressible urge to write KNB fic. At a loss for ideas, I went back to Touch Pass's wonderful prompt collection, and this request by Qem caught my eye. -I did a quick search for Alex!fic, and was super, super disappointed at the lack of fics of and about her. I got to thinking about Alex's retirement from basketball: and this fic was born.
> 
> I will give cookies to anyone who figures out which neurological disorder Alex has (I've given you so many hints)!
> 
> Thank you for the prompt, Qem! I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. 
> 
> [[listen]](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q7HTZHaCPQY)

 

 

November 5, 1999                               

LA SPARKS POINT GUARD GARCIA RETIRES

LOS ANGELES – Demonstrating that even the best of us can fall victim to circumstance, the Sparks’ no. 4 turned in her jersey today, bringing an end to a four-season career.  – continued on page 10

***

In a seedy love hotel somewhere in Ikebukuro, Alex wakes up to pain.

It is centered mostly behind her eyes: sharp, burning – and extends down her nose and lips and chin.  She reaches for her glasses with trembling fingers, presses them against her eyes. The walls of the hotel room refuse to come into focus. Instead, the movement brings to awareness the familiar, uncomfortable fullness in her pelvic region.

She can feel rather than see the person in the bed beside her – a straight-out-of-college boy almost a decade younger than her. Try as she might, Alex cannot remember his name. Did she ever know it? The curtains over the window are a washed-out version of their earlier, vivid green selves. What a stupid color for curtains, Alex thinks through the haze in her mind, and, God, I am pathetic.

After a moment’s pause, Alex extricates herself from the bed sheets. It is slow going – her hands are slow and clumsy, and sometime during the night, her legs had gotten themselves thoroughly entangled. After several agonizing moments, Alex shifts to the side of the bed, goose bumps erupting over her bare skin. The edge of the mattress dips under her weight as she sets her feet onto the ground – first the right, then the left, long bony toes sinking into the carpet. She reaches out, blindly, to first grip the side table and then the wall, and makes her way to the bathroom, her knees shaking with the effort.

She makes it to the toilet. Alex sets her forehead against the sink and gives up a silent prayer for small mercies.

Back in the room, Alex sits on the bed to pull her jeans on. She fumbles with the button, and the zip, and briefly considers cuffing her hems before giving it up as requiring more coordination than she is capable of, in the moment.

Dressed, Alex retrieves her cellphone and hits number one on her speed dial. She holds the phone against her ear with both hands.

Taiga picks up on the third ring.

“Alex?” he says, voice thick with sleep. “It’s two in the morning.”

“Taiga,” Alex stretches her mouth around the syllables of his name. Her tongue feels dry and heavy. “I need you to do me a favor.”

When he calls back fifteen minutes later, Alex leaves the hotel room. She takes the elevator down to the lobby. Taiga is waiting for her outside the hotel, wool cap pulled down to cover his ears, hands deep in his jacket pockets.

 Alex leans heavily against him. Taiga puts an arm around her shoulders, his hand cupped under her elbow.

“Haven’t I told you,” he says, in a weak attempt at humor as he walks her to the taxi waiting by the curb, “that you shouldn’t drink so much?”

***

Alex discovered basketball by accident. She didn’t grow into the game, or fall in love with it watching matches on TV. Alex fell into basketball because her cousin Max needed a fill-in for a streetball match, and Alex was tall and available (taller than him, though you wouldn’t hear him admit it out loud).

LA has a street court on nearly every corner, it seems, and after that one life-changing game – in Alex’s words, pronounced with exaggerated flair and an indulgent smile – she never seemed to lack for places to play and people to play with.

When she did fall into basketball, Alex fell hard.

***

Alex has a list of places in Tokyo to explore after the Winter Cup is over. She wanders the fashion outlets in Ginza, the temples in Asakusa, and bullies Taiga into taking her on a day trip out to Odaiba Island. She has an old Nikon F90 she uses to take pictures of the skyline, and the view from the top of the ferris wheel.

Later, she hooks her camera up to Taiga’s laptop. She transfers the pictures of her and Taiga (the ones she looks good in) and emails them to Tatsuya. _You’re missing out_ , _Tat-chan_ , she writes in the subject line, and puts comments under every photo to make sure he gets the point.

Taiga doesn’t accompany her to Kyoto, begging off on the pretext of having classes. Alex is pretty sure he doesn’t actually listen in class, but she isn’t so irresponsible an adult to encourage skipping school outright.

Kyoto is a city of temples. Alex’s favorite is _Ginkakuji_ , the Golden Temple’s unfinished relative. She thinks it might be precisely _because_ the temple is unfinished that she likes it so much; it is a building of possibilities instead of absolutes.

In Kyoto’s Ninenzaka district, Alex gets a _geisha_ makeover. Instead of a wig, the stylist gathers Alex’s hair into a _shimada_ , securing the bun at the crown of Alex’s head with a _kanzashi_. Years of Japanese study, Alex finds, are no substitute for the weight of the _kimono’s_ layers and the pinch of the _kanzashi_ ’s tines against her head.

“You have beautiful hair,” the stylist tells her, as she removes the pins.

Alex should be used to compliments by now, but they still startle her. “You too,” she says, which isn’t the thank you she intended to say but still sincere nonetheless.

Back in Tokyo, Alex frames the photo and hangs it on Taiga’s living room wall. If people ask who she is, and they will, she informs Taiga, tell them I’m your big sister.

Taiga, of course, in typical Taiga fashion, retorts that he’ll say she _was_ his great grandmother, and that she died very old and hideously wrinkly. Alex throws a cushion at him. He throws several back.

Having explored much of Tokyo, Alex decides she loves Ikebukuro best. She learned Japanese through anime, after all, and Ikebukuro is the spirit of the Japan she grew up loving made concrete. She clutters Taiga’s spare room with _doujinshi_ and figurines of her favorite characters. Soon, her posters begin migrating into other rooms of the apartment, most notably the kitchen and the little hallway between her bedroom and Taiga’s. Taiga complains – but only halfheartedly – and after Alex catches him with _Love in Wimbledon_ the complaints stop completely.

One weekend three weeks after the final match, Taiga has guests over – sons of one of his father’s business partners. Taiga invites Kuroko-kun over to help, though, privately, Alex thinks Kuroko-kun is more likely to do harm than good, in social situations.

“Who is that?” one of the boys asks, gesturing to Alex’s portrait, fifteen minutes into the gathering.

“Oh,” Taiga says, glancing over at it, “that’s my big sister.”

The boys _ooh_ and _ahh_ at it for several moments – till Kuroko-kun thinks to say, with exaggerated surprise, “but, Kagami-kun, she’s a foreigner,” like the little shit he is.

Taiga gives Alex an apologetic look. “Well,” he begins, “she’s adopted – ”

***

Nights Taiga has nothing to do and Alex is feeling up to it, they play streetball. The court is a three-minute walk away from Taiga’s apartment complex, metal-fenced and brand new, nestled in giant fir trees on three sides.

They leave their scarves and jackets on the benches, and play till Taiga can’t move and Alex is seeing double.

Playing Taiga is like reading a favorite book a hundred times and finding something new every time: familiar and yet unknown. He plays with his entire being, the way other people breathe. He is _good_ at the game.

In terms of wins and losses, they are almost evenly matched. Alex likes to think it’s because they’ve come to a convergence: the rise of his ability meeting the waning of hers. But – although she knows he wouldn’t – he respects her too much – she thinks he might just be going easy on her.

***

June 15, 1999

SPARKS SCRAPE THROUGH TO WIN

LOS ANGELES – Winning 45-43 through a lucky buzzer-beater, the Sparks have added another disappointing match to their roster this season. Mistakes were rife tonight, with point guard Alexandra Garcia fumbling basic passes and forward Lacy Giant’s third quarter injury – continued on page 15

***

In high school, Alex’s father wanted her to study for a teacher’s diploma in college. The work would be steady, he explained, and the pay decent. She wouldn’t have to worry (much) about finding a job, and teaching is a respectable, honorable career.

Alex wanted to play basketball.  

He didn’t understand at first – he was a single parent raising a daughter on a construction worker’s salary – but eventually he came to realize _how much_ Alex loved the game. He would support her, he said, if pro-basketball was what she wanted to do.

“You’ve got to seize your own dreams, sweetie,” he’d say. “You can’t wait for someday – because someday never comes.”

In her senior year, Alex’s high school team won the state championships, and Alex won a sports scholarship to UCLA. A month into the fall term, her father died of a heart attack. He was walking to work, his colleagues told Alex, and just collapsed in the middle of the sidewalk.

It’s funny, Alex thinks, how – despite the scholarship, and playing for the WNBA, despite making captain and point guard – she ended up becoming a teacher anyway.

***

Once, a friend of Alex’s from her pro-basketball days asked her, “why don’t you make those boys call you Ms. Garcia?”

At the time, Alex waved a hand and laughed it off. Later, she thought about how, if only it had occurred to her, she might’ve explained how Tatsuya and Taiga show her so much respect in their own ways – in the rapt attention they give her when she talks to them – in the presents they bring her (a card, a flower, a hug) – in the way they shoot down anyone who badmouths her in their presence (they’re just ten and eleven, but so earnest in their defense) – and how, in the end, they give her more than respect: affection. How can a title compare?

It isn’t as though they didn’t give her titles at all; Taiga called her Coach, sometimes, when he felt like it, and Tatsuya would occasionally refer to her (in conversation) as sensei.

Now they’re older, and Alex is more ‘sister’ than ‘teacher’. She is Alex, or Alexandra, to Taiga, the latter when he is introducing her to people he wants to make a good impression on:

And Tatsuya, when he is in one of his more affectionate moods, will call her sensei. At such times, Alex thinks wryly, the tone of his voice can be best described as ‘fondly sarcastic’, which, in a phrase, sums up his entire attitude towards her; someone he has outgrown, but remains strangely attached to.

Of course, they are (and always will be) her boys, big or small, young or old, playing or retired. As long as she’s around, there will be that particular bond between them that exists between a child and their mentor, a fierce strong loyalty that extends something like a thread of fate, tying them together.

***

Alex first felt the pain in her eyes sometime in the May of ’99. She passed it off as conjunctivitis, initially, a common, self-limiting ailment readily treated with rest and proper hydration. Not being conjunctivitis, the pain did not go away, growing increasingly worse. A week after the pain began, Alex noticed her vision beginning to blur – specifically, she could not track moving objects as well as she usually could. Colors seemed to be washed out, especially reds. The blurriness, and the pain, worsened during practice.

Following a week and a half of watching Alex endure her condition with remarkable fortitude, the Sparks arranged for her to see an ophthalmologist. The deciding factor were three missed free throws in a row, in the aftermath of which Alex collapsed onto the floor and had to be carried out of the gym, despite, per her account, an excellent night’s sleep and a great breakfast.

“I’m sorry, Miss Garcia,” the ophthalmologist said, after conducting a detailed physical exam and looking at Alex’s brain scans – a series of mumbo jumbo Alex could not (and did not care to) understand. “But it seems that you are one of the unfortunate few who cannot reverse their vision loss upon recovery from optic neuritis. You will also need to follow up regularly with a neurologist for careful monitoring of your disease progression.”

Alex huffed through her mouth, crossing a leg over the other and leaning her elbows onto her knees.

“Sorry, doc,” she said, “but you’re going to have make it a little simpler than that for me to understand.”

“You’re lucky,” the doctor replied, softly, “that you didn’t go blind.”

***

Alex finds Riko and Satsuki in the women’s section of a department store two weeks after her return from Kyoto. Satsuki is holding up a dress self-critically, while Riko lounges, utterly bored, against the clothes rack.

“Riko-chan,” Satsuki says as Alex approaches, “you’ve gotta help me out here! Would Kuroko-kun like this dress or that frosty blue one?”

Riko rolls her eyes. “The frosty blue one,” she says, “made you look like cotton candy. If that’s the sort of appeal you’re looking for, go right ahead, but I’m pretty sure Kuroko-kun wouldn’t care if you wore Valentino or a brown paper bag.”

“Gracious,” Satsuki exclaims, flipping her hair over her shoulder. “How can you say something like that! Kuroko-kun – ”

“Isn’t the slightest bit interested in romance,” Riko cuts in. “You’d be better off trying your luck with Aomine-kun.”

“Dai-chan? That’s gross,” Satsuki sniffs and hangs the dress she’d been holding back onto the rack, rifling through it for something else.

“Yeah?” Riko inspects a hangnail. “You try saying that to his face. Even I can tell he’s completely head over heels for you.”

Satsuki sets her hands on her hips. “If that’s true, why didn’t he come here with me when I asked him?”

“Because,” Riko purses her lips, “you’re picking out clothes to go on a date with another guy; what do you expect?” She catches sight of Alex, a smile breaking out on her face.  “Ms. Garcia! It’s such a surprise to see you here.”

“Riko-chan, Satsuki-chan,” Alex beams at them both. “Riko-chan – please, it’s Alex. I’m not nearly old enough for all that formality.” She supplements this statement with a wink, just in case they didn’t get the point.

“Alex,” Satsuki exclaims, “which dress do you recommend?” She holds up a pink chiffon halter top, and a white sleeveless dress with a shallow v-neck. Both dresses are knee-length, with full skirts.

“The white,” Alex decides after a moment’s pause. “That pink looks like baby shower décor.”

“I do like the white better,” Satsuki says, and hangs the other back. “Okay, I’ll go pay for this.” She hugs the dress to herself.

Left with Alex, Riko arches an eyebrow. “I wonder if she enjoys playing oblivious,” she says, under her breath.

“Riko-chan,” Alex says, “you’ve done a great job coaching Taiga.”

Riko blushes. “Thanks,” she says, “but to be fair, I didn’t really do anything. You’d trained him up real good before he came to me.”

Alex crosses her arms over her chest. “Ah, learn to take a compliment,” she teases, “that rag-tag team of yours would be completely lost without you.”

Riko ducks her head.

Over at the counter, Satsuki pulls out her credit card, chattering animatedly away at the clerk behind the cashier. She has a natural ebullience that draws people to her, Alex thinks, and wonders what would happen if Riko and Satsuki were ever to team up on something.

“You could take over the world,” she half-murmurs to herself.

“What?” Riko looks up at her, eyebrow cocked questioningly.

“Ah, nothing,” Alex grins, “just thinking out loud.”

***

September 15, 1998

SPARKS BLAZE TO VICTORY

LOS ANGELES – LA Sparks’ Garcia has been on a roll this season, operating her team members with the panache of a seasoned chess master. With Garcia in the regular PG position, the Sparks have tightened their routine. Tuesday’s game followed a newly minted pattern, with Forward Roberts in – continued on page 4

***

The taxi ride to the Tokyoeisei Hospital is spent mostly in silence. Alex sits with her knees drawn together, palms flat against her thighs. She tries pulling her fingers into a fist, grimacing with the effort. Taiga notices the gesture, reaching out to thread his fingers through hers.

“Relax,” he says, hushed. “You’re going to be fine.”

Alex laughs, shakily. The sound echoes in the confined space. “I wonder what I did to deserve you,” she says, “you and Tatsuya: you’re the best things that ever happened to me.” She realizes, belatedly, that there are tears prickling at the backs of her eyes, threatening to overspill.

“Don’t talk like you’re going to die,” Taiga says, his hand tightening around Alex’s. “What am I going to do without you, huh? Who’s going to call me up at godforsaken hours of the night, and read stupid _doujinsh_ i with me, and remind me to take my vitamin supplements, huh?” He presses his lips together, the line of his mouth cutting across his face. He refuses to meet her eye.

“I didn’t know you were capable of such sentiment, Taiga,” Alex says, and sets her head against his shoulder, breathing in the scent of him: sleep and musk and something underneath that is all Taiga. “When did you get to be so grown-up, hmm?”

She still remembers him as the tiny ten-year-old he was when they first met, long-limbed and gangly, the physique of the man he would become coiled within his frame, waiting to come out. No matter how many times she sees him in crowds, towering above everyone else, or sits beside him like this, dwarfed by his size, she will never cease to be surprised by how _tall_ and _big_ he has become. She wonders if this is how mothers feel, as their children transform from needy, helpless babies into functional, independent adults.

She wonders if Taiga’s mother would have felt any different, had she been given the opportunity to watch him grow.

The taxi pulls up outside the hospital’s ER. Taiga retrieves his wallet, pulling out the fare. He pays the driver, then helps Alex out of the car.

When Alex comes to, she is lying in a hospital bed. There is an IV hooked up to her arm; normal saline, for dehydration. The doctor in the ER had looked at her with such disapproval, as if it was entirely her fault she was so sick.

“No more alcohol,” he had said, firmly, and prescribed her a course of oral steroids. It was a normal, – for Alex – exacerbation, he said, made worse by her poor fluid status.

Taiga is sitting by the bedside, his forehead resting against Alex’s knee, hand clasped around hers. Alex raises a hand, combing through the thick, bristly strands of his hair. If fate had seen fit to take his mother from him, Alex thinks, then she will do the best she can to make sure he does not feel her absence.

“Ah, you’re awake, sensei,” a low, cool voice drawls from the corner of the room. Cast in half-shadow, Tatsuya is sitting in the chair by the mini fridge, a book open over his knee.

“Tatsuya,” Alex smiles, widely. “What are you doing here?”

“Taiga called,” he explains. “You worried me so much I traveled cross country to come see you. Aren’t you flattered beyond belief?”

Alex stares at him a moment, before bursting into laughter. The movement makes her chest hurt, but she is too happy to care. “Come here, you giant tsundere,” she calls, and waves her free hand to punctuate the command.

He makes a show of putting his book down and crossing the room to stand by the bed. Alex pats the mattress – he sits down, carefully, his hesitance giving him away. The mattress dips under his weight.

Alex touches her fingers to his cheek. “Thank you,” she says, “it means a lot to me.”

His eye – the one she can see – flickers, the other hidden behind his shock of hair. His expression is unreadable.  

“I don’t know,” he says, finally, “whether I want to kiss you or walk out of this room and never come back.”

Alex feels tears well up in her eyes again. She seems to be crying a lot, lately, she thinks. She must be growing soft, in her old age. She loops a hand around the back of his neck, pressing a kiss to his brow.

“There,” she says, “and if you want to leave I won’t stop you.”

Slowly, Tatsuya leans forward till his forehead is touching Alex’s. He tucks his hair behind his ear, so both his eyes, blue-gray, bore directly into hers.

“You’re so stupid, sensei,” he says, eyes fluttering shut. He exhales, his breath playing across her face.

***

“But, sensei,” Tatsuya said, after several minutes of silence. The wind ruffled his hair, tinging his baby-cheeks pink. “That doesn’t make sense. Plenty of people play basketball with glasses. Why should that stop you?”

***

May 15th, 1997

LA SPARKS ACQUIRES PROMISING NEWCOMER

LOS ANGELES – After three weeks of weighty negotiations, the Los Angeles Sparks signed UCLA’s Alexandra Garcia in a 65 million dollar deal. At 23, Garcia is a college legend, with a fast-paced, pithy playing style often described as a puppet master pulling strings. – continued on page 3

****

 

 

 

 

 

 

_end._


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